


Plastic Beach

by PausePlayRepeat



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 11:19:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10943454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PausePlayRepeat/pseuds/PausePlayRepeat
Summary: I just really wanted to do a Plastic Beach story y'all. Each chapter correlates with a song from the album.





	1. Welcome to the World of the Plastic Beach

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I know it’s probably been done to death, but I just really wanted to write a fic about Plastic Beach. It’s my favorite album, and listening to it, it 1.) felt like it really had a definite flowing tone from song to song, and 2.) from that tone told a story that could easily relate back to potential events going on in the Gorillaz lore during PB. So here it is. Each chapter will relate to the lyrics and tone of each song on the album (as best as I can get to match so it’s a cohesive story.) Sorry if Murdoc and 2D are a little OOC- I tried really hard but I find them so difficult to pin down. Also, I’m totally down with any story/grammatical constructive criticism y’all want to give- last time I wrote anything was two years ago so I’m feeling rusty AF, aha. This is also my first multi-chaptered story.

Chapter 1: Welcome to the World of the Plastic Beach  
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Welcome to the world of the plastic beach…  
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A hazy consciousness began to peek its way through his awareness. 2D blearily opened his eyes. The last thing he remembered was standing at the window of his Beirut hotel room, watching drearily as the daily traffic screamed and honked its way through the crowded city below. But as he blinked slowly through the darkness, he wasn’t sure where he happened to have ended up. 

For a brief moment, 2D felt panic rise in his chest. He feared that he’d gone blind, that his damaged eyes had finally given up and succumbed to the blood filling his pupils. However, as the seconds ticked by, a faint crack of light registered in his sluggish brain and he felt a rush of relief. Reaching toward the source of the light, his hand hit the silken wall in front of him before he gave it a gentle shove. 

Dazzling sunlight hit 2D’s eyes, and he squinted hard into the blinding area around him, his limb stretching stiffly out from his body. At first, he wasn’t sure what he was seeing wasn’t a hallucination. 

The ground around him gleamed a florescent pink in the bright mid-afternoon light, and expanded beyond 2D’s distance of sight. He set down a shaky foot, pulling himself up out of what he realized was a large and rather ratty suitcase. Although a small part of him had expected the mysterious pink ground to be soft, the material felt hard and strangely hollow as he experimentally stomped on it, and he slowly realized why. Trash sat piled at his feet, containing everything from metal pipes and cans, to hunks of plastic, used syringes, to what appeared to be heaps and heaps of old clothes, all of which were the same neon color. He took a few steps forward and gasped as what lay behind the fields of pink came into his line of vision.

He was surrounded by a vast ocean. 

2D felt the bottom of his stomach drop through his middle and bile start to rise up to his throat. Exactly where was he, and how far had he been taken from his apartment back in Lebanon? How had he gotten here? Would anyone realize he was gone? He hadn’t been in contact with much of anyone over the last several months. After Gorillaz had broken up for the second time, he hadn’t felt the same need to go out into the celebrity world and make his mark. Noodle’s death had sent him into a heavy lull of melancholia that left him with a sense of urgency to hide himself away from anyone that might try to ask about her disappearance, about Murdoc or Russel, and with his parents both having died during the Demon Days tour, he had rented out a small apartment where he was somewhat sure the band never got too popular. The last time he had really talked to anyone had been when Britt Ekland had given him a ring to ask if he wanted to attend one of her infamous Halloween parties, but he had quickly told her no and hung up the phone. The familiar buzz of anxiety overtook his senses and his vision started to swim. How was he going to get back? No one was even going to come looking for him. Just as the blood began to rush in his ears and his hearing started fade, a boisterous voice cut through the air. 

“Ah, there’s the man of the hour! I told the post to leave you at the front door, but looks like they were raring to get back out to sea- not that I blame ‘em.”

2D would have recognized that voice anywhere. It was loud, rough from years of heavy smoking, and always had the sort of wild, dangerous edge to it that 2D found both enrapturing and terrifying. He could have picked it out of a crowd of thousands of people, and it was often the voice he heard when he thought about his life of fame. It was a voice he had hoped to never hear again. 

2D turned shakily, not completely trusting himself to stay upright, to see the man walking toward him with a leisurely gait, arms spread wide as if he was about to embrace him.

Murdoc grinned down at him, a manic glint in his eyes. His smile was a snake-like, toothy grin and he gestured up at the huge building behind him, at which 2D let out an involuntary gasp when his gaze finally fell upon it.

“Stu, my boy- welcome to the world of Plastic Beach.”  
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	2. White Flag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murdoc gives 2D a tour.

Chapter 2: White Flag

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I nearly suffocated when I touched the shore…  
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For the first few minutes 2D was too stunned to do anything but stay numbly rooted to where he stood among the trash covered beach. He could dimly register that Murdoc had approached him, was rambling excitedly on about something, and had slapped an arm around his shoulder in a friendly gesture, but none of it felt real, as though his brain had left his body and he was simply getting delayed updates from somewhere far, far away. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, a massive, physics defying compound heaped together in odd arrangements resting atop all manner of filth and garbage coagulated together in a disgusting pink wad of land. The stench of it compiled with the gaudiness and ridiculousness of being out to drift at sea made 2D think that the entire area couldn’t have suited Murdoc better, which is how he found himself finally focusing his thoughts to the man standing next to him. Why was Murdoc here? Had he been the one to bring him all the way out to sea? And why? 2D groaned, the beginnings of a migraine starting to pulse behind his eyes, and he finally managed to collect himself enough to interrupt Murdoc’s jabbering. 

“Murdoc… w-wot is this place,” he stammered, looking at Murdoc directly for the first time since his arrival.

For a beat, a flash of annoyance ran across Murdoc’s features at 2D cutting him off and 2D instinctively flinched, but it was quickly replaced with a genial grin. “Should’a known better than to try to tell you too much right away, Brainache. Can’t expect too much out of you after your journey, eh?”

2D gulped, though the movement was apparently missed by Murdoc. ‘Journey? Exactly how far out to sea WERE they?’

“Come on now, Dents old boy, let’s talk a walk and I’ll show you ‘round the ranch.” Murdoc, with one arm still around 2D’s shoulder, took ahold of 2D’s other arm in a vice-like grip and steered him up away from the shore and through a set of sliding double doors at the base of the lumbering building.  
2D, for his part, was grateful to be getting out of the sun, even if his anxiety still had him on high alert. Whatever Murdoc had waiting for him couldn’t be good, but the bright outside was making his head pound, and that would only make the situation worse. So he let Murdoc dig his sharp nails into his boney arm without protest, and decided to remain quiet. 

The space inside was dark, lit by a single red flood light situated above an elevator door, which was the only thing in the empty shaft of a room. As they stepped into the lift, 2D noticed an abundance of floors, more than he had figured there would have been, with many appearing to extend below the surface of the water. 2D shuddered. The thought of whales under the water was enough to make him hope he never had to venture down there. 

Murdoc pressed one of the buttons marked with a star, and they were off, climbing shakily upwards until the elevator came to a creaky halt and Murdoc shoved 2D through the opening doors. 2D’s jaw dropped a little at the space before him. 

The room the elevator had opened to was a spacious loft of sorts, designed to give off the look of a combination lounge, bar, and look-out. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined all but the far wall soaking in soft sunlight. Most of the floor was open, but comfortable looking chairs and sofas sat pushed against the corners of the room, and each nest of sitting areas had a cabinet stocked to the brim with every kind of alcohol imaginable within arms-reach. Overhead, huge stylish lamps hung from the ceiling over every few meters, and although they were turned off in the brightness of day, 2D could tell that they would become focal points by night. Against the only wall not made of glass was a tall fireplace, cut deep into the stone it rested in and decorated ornately with gargoyles. 2D took an unsteady step into the room, having been released from Murdoc’s grip. 

"Muds, wot is all this?” His voice came out with a tremble, and he immediately admonished himself for it, knowing it would only give Murdoc a sick satisfaction of holding power over him, as it always had.  
“This, dear Stu-Pot, is our new beginning.” He walked out in-front of 2D and spread his arms wide. “Plastic Beach, point nemo, the furthest away from civilization one could hope to get. You see, ever since we all, you know, parted ways, I’ve had all this inspiration but no clue how to turn it into something golden.” Murdoc made his way over to one of the alcohol shelves as talked, and pulled a hefty bottle of rum off the top of one and twisted off its cap. 

“And then it hit me,” he continued, taking a swig, “that everything back in Essex and LA had all been distractions! We’d all gotten too big of egos, eh? Needed to get away from all of that rubbish and build ourselves from scratch! So, being ever the innovator I am, I burned Kong to the ground and used the insurance to build this lovely little spot in the Pacific!” He smirked, the glint from the beach coming back to his eye. “’Course, don’t go tellin’ anyone else that, ‘D.”

2D pulled himself to the closest chair and sank into it weakly. The Pacific? How long had he been out for Murdoc to have shipped him all the way to the Pacific? And how far away was anyone else? Or land, for that matter?

“Murdoc,” he rasped, turning his gaze back to the other man, “why am I ‘ere?” Some part of him dreaded the response, because he already knew the answer to this question. It had been the only real reason Murdoc had ever kept him around. As thick as 2D could be, the realistic portion of himself had accepted the fact long ago, even if a small piece of him always wished for more, for Murdoc to care about him beyond that fact. But the next words out of Murdoc’s only confirmed his suspicions. 

“Come on now, Faceache, even you aren’t that stupid. We’re gonna make a new album, you and me. Gorillaz will be back in business!” Murdoc thrust the bottle of rum into 2D’s lap, ignoring the rising redness in the singer’s cheeks as he walked back to the shelf to pull another bottle. “Have a drink ‘D, relax, because we’re going to be up bright and early tomorrow to start work.” 

“No.”

Murdoc stopped walking, but did not turn to look back. “What was that you said, Stuart?”

2D stood up, the rum bottle clenched in his fist. His anxiety had swiftly turned to fury the second Murdoc mentioned Gorillaz. 

“Yew ‘eard me. I ain’t doin’ it.” He stalked back to the elevator doors and punched his finger on the open button. “Take me back down and get me out of ‘ere.”

Murdoc turned slowly on his Cuban heels, the rubber soles giving a threatening squeak against the hardwood. 2D felt himself instantly crumble a little in stature, but he held his ground. There was no way in hell that he was going to record an album with Murdoc- he’d made up his mind about being done with Gorillaz, and no amount of intimidation from the bassist was going to change it. Although he’d lost quite a bit of his cocky attitude since the band had broken up, 2D still felt proud and more confident in standing up to Murdoc. 

“Now 2D,” Murdoc said, the honey-laced venom coming out in this voice as he walked toward his singer, “don’t back out on me now, lad. Not after I put all of this lovely new studio together, gone to all the trouble to get you here.” He stopped just a few inches away from 2D’s face, and although he was nearly half a foot taller, Murdoc had the presence of someone looming over the singer. 

“And I’ve even had Russel’s old drum machine mailed here. Apparently the fat-arse has gone completely off his rocker this time ‘round, so he can’t be here to join us, but the two of us’ll manage without him.”

It hit 2D and was coming out of his mouth before his brain had even registered the words he was about to say, hot and spiteful. 

“We can’t get Noodle back.”

Murdoc’s face went dark.

“I’ve made other arrangements.” His tone was low and dangerous, having lost all of the whimsical ditty that it had carried, and 2D knew that this was a sign to back down, that if he said one more word he would be in for a world of hurt. But 2D couldn’t stop. Not this time, and all of the anger and bitterness he had harbored toward the bassist for the last three years came out of his mouth all at once. 

“Yew can’t fuckin’ replace Noodle, yew heartless old sod!” He was getting worked up, but he couldn’t bring himself to back down. “We can’t get ‘er back because yew killed ‘er!” 2D threw the open rum bottle he’d been holding to the floor, sending alcohol and glass smashing around their feet. “It’s yer fault an’ yew know it! She trusted yew, we all trusted yew tha’ she’d be safe!”

“Now listen here you dullard,” Murdoc started to snarl, but before he could finish 2D threw a weak punch that hit him squarely in the nose. The singer wasn’t strong enough to break it, but blood started to ooze immediately from one of Murdoc’s nostrils. 

Before 2D had even realized what he’d done, Murdoc smacked him hard across the mouth, and he half fell to the polished hardwood floor. He felt a harsh stinging on his cheek, and he raised a hand up to feel blood coming off of the skin, no doubt the result of one of Murdoc’s many ringed fingers. 

Murdoc took a step toward him, pulling out a white cloth from his pants pocket. “I thought you might be like this, Faceache.” 

Moving swiftly, Murdoc grabbed the back 2D’s head roughly by his hair and shoved his face into the rag, where he instantly smelled a funny odor coming off of it. 2D struggled against Murdoc’s firm grasp for only a moment, kicking his arms and legs out uselessly before his brain went hazy and his vision blurred. The last thing he thought before slipping into darkness was that the cloth looked an awful lot like a white flag signaling surrender.  
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Murdoc chloroforms 2D in the iTunes interview when he starts getting too mouthy and honestly it’s just so uncomfortable. Also I have no clue if chloroform has a smell, sooooo….


	3. Rhinestone Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2D wakes up again, but this time with company.

Chapter 3: Rhinestone Eyes  
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So call the mainland from the beach, your pod is now washed up in bleach…  
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The first thing 2D noticed when he pried his eyelids open was the throbbing pain exploding behind his skull. Although the light around him was dim, it was almost overwhelming and he quickly screwed his eyes shut again, giving an involuntary groan. He reached an arm out tentatively and was surprised to feel a soft, if ratty, blanket under his fingertips. Brain slowly piecing the last of his memories together, of Murdoc and the fight, he didn’t know why he was now laying prone on what must’ve been a bed.

‘But why…’ 

He tried again to open his eyes and push himself up so that he could investigate his new surroundings, but his arms quickly gave way, dropping him back onto the mattress. All of his muscles felt like jelly, his joints stiff and like someone had driven sharp spikes through each one. As sensation began to come back to his skin, so too did the awful pulsating stings coming from his left cheek. It all did nothing to help his headache.

“Nice to see you’ve finally joined the living again, ‘D. I was starting to worry that I’d accidentally finished you off.” 

2D cracked open an eye and waited until the room stopped spinning enough so that he could focus on the silhouette, which could belong to only Murdoc. He sat in the far corner of what 2D could now tell was a small, dingy room with walls and a floor made completely of metal sheets. It was bare, except for a few piles of unopened boxes stacked around haphazardly and large industrial pillars that jutted out of the floor in awkward places. The single light above the bed cast shadows all around the space, obscuring most of Murdoc’s form behind them. 

“M-Murdoc,” he managed to gasp out. His voice felt thin and his throat stripped raw as he took in a rattling breath of air through his mouth. Coughing weakly, the pain radiated down into his lungs and up through his temples before he mustered the strength to roll onto his back, feeling for a moment as though he might faint again.

From the corner, Murdoc stood and came toward him, into the light with his folding chair dragging in his wake. The scrapes of metal on metal pieced through 2D’s skull and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He was sure his head was absolutely going to split in two and his brains would start to drip from every opening. 

Beside the bed, Murdoc swung the chair around into place and sat down on it heavily. Extending an arm toward him, 2D flinched away, expecting to be struck, but instead Murdoc’s hand landed on a small table next to his bedside and picked up a small pill bottle. Uncapping it, he shook out a few small capsules and slapped them into 2D’s open palm while slamming a glass of water down roughly beside his head. 2D lifted his hand feebly, eyeing the pills with suspicion. Murdoc rolled his eyes. 

“Take ‘em, ya paper-brain. I haven’t poisoned ‘em. Not yet anyway. You’re no good to me in one of yer states.” 

2D gave Murdoc a final glance over before popping the pills in his mouth and swallowing them dry, not bothering to argue that Murdoc was entirely to blame for his current malaise. He had taken medication for so long that he no longer needed the water to wash it down with, but this seemed to irritate Murdoc for some reason. The bassist bared his teeth and grabbed the cup of water before throwing some of it on 2D’s face and shoving it into his hand. 2D’s sputtered a little, mostly out of surprise, but kept quiet. 

“Drink the damn water. I know for a fact you haven’t had any in at least a day.”

2D felt his anger rising again. Not even two minutes since he’d awoken from Murdoc’s last assault and he was already being bossed around. “An’ ‘oo’s fault is that?”

Murdoc flicked him hard in the nose and 2D gave a yelp. “Mind yer mouth, you twerp.”

Blood began to trickle down 2D’s nose, but he didn’t move to wipe it away. Instead, he hesitantly took a sip from the cup. There was no use in riling Murdoc up even more, so he let the minutes roll by in a tense silence as he continued to take small drinks, the cool water giving his throat a pleasant sort of tingle. The blood from his nose mixed with the water in his mouth as it ran down his esophagus, but he didn’t mind the thick irony after-taste. He was too tired and sore to really care, and as the pills started to take effect his headache began to ease off and his eyelids began to droop. Noticing the change in his frontman, Murdoc smirked, the shadows from the over-bright light hanging above them both giving his face a look wild even for him. 

“That’s a good lad. Feelin’ better, are we?”

2D could hear the grin forming in Murdoc’s voice. He didn’t want to answer him. He knew exactly that he was about to jump back to the topic of the band. Anything he had to say, he knew the bassist wouldn’t like and although his head was beginning to drop from meltdown levels, he didn’t think he could handle being hit again. He was just too tired. So instead he merely let out a soft noise from the back of his throat, not an agreement or a decline, but still a noise that would hopefully pacify Murdoc for a few moments. As he expected, Murdoc plunged straight back in.

“Ready to reconsider your decision about the album, Stuart?”

2D turned his face away from Murdoc. Something about the newly saccharine tone in his voice made the singer wish that he could vanish, somewhere far away from the other man. He couldn’t bear to look at him, not when he knew that he was so weak, that Murdoc was completely in control of the situation. He couldn’t say no, but he felt sick at the idea of saying yes. And although he knew he couldn’t show it, he was so, so angry. 

He pushed the side of face deeper into the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the question. Murdoc, seeming to sense the defeat in 2D, sighed and laid a grimy palm across the singer’s forehead. 

“Yer runnin’ hot,” he grumbled. “Can’t expect ya to keep going after all of today’s…events. We’ll finish this conversation tomorrow.” The hand retracted from his brow and 2D heard the sounds of the chair scratching against the metal floor. For a moment there was a pause, before Murdoc spoke again, softer this time. “Get some sleep, 2D.”

Clacking footsteps trailed away until a heavy slam left him alone in his new abode. 

For a few moments he lay there, trying to quiet the thoughts racing through his mind. What was he going to do? How was he going to get off the island? How was he going to get out of the album? Murdoc was surely going to return the next morning- 2D had seen him excited like this before, and it meant that the bassist would break his usual routine of sleeping until mid-afternoon in favor of working fervently on whatever new scheme he had cooked up. It was akin to much of Murdoc’s personality. 2D had known him long enough to witness the cyclic bursts of energy followed by the long periods of melancholy, the sudden drives and droughts of laziness that tempered all of his endeavors. He figured it had something to do with Murdoc’s chaotic upbringing, which he had once drunkenly sobbed to 2D after one of their early concerts and then never brought up again. Another part of it, he supposed, was a lingering result of Murdoc’s former addiction to speed. In the early post-coma days when Murdoc would come by his apartment to hammer out ideas for another band, 2D had witnessed several of his amphetamine-induced “work sessions,” in which he ranted and raved to 2D about all of his master plans to topple charts and take the world by storm, drew up ideas day and night, and ran 2D ragged until he finally came down. Although he had kicked the habit before the band really took off, 2D noticed that Murdoc had retained some of his old behaviors, including his short-lived, but intense inspirations. But this thought, too, was no comfort to 2D, for the one thing that was consistent about Murdoc was how everything he did was underscored by determination when he really got an idea in his mind. While his energy waxed and waned, 2D knew the Murdoc wouldn’t let this go.  


Deciding it was no use to try to rest, the singer rose unsteadily to investigate the room. Tentatively, 2D began to ease open the top box on the pile nearest him. Inside were what appeared to be most of his T-shirts, thrown haphazardly together in a jumbled wad. In the boxes beneath it were his keyboards, his movie and CD collections, several of his old knick-knacks, about a year’s supply of his medication, the rest of his clothes, a few rolled posters, and a couple of his books from law school. Although it was by no means all of his belongings, it seemed Murdoc had brought with him to Plastic Beach the possessions that he valued most. Obviously he had planned for the long-haul. 

As the next few hours trickled by, 2D emptied the boxes, finding an old set of drawers crammed behind a ventilation pipe and small shelves along some of the paneling in the walls. When it seemed as though everything had been unpacked, he sat down on the edge of the bed and surveyed the room again. It felt a little homier, and though he still had every intention of defying Murdoc’s wishes to work on the album, he felt that he could at least be somewhat comfortable in his new room while he waited the bassist out. Rising again, he started to toss the empty boxes together but stopped when he noticed something he had missed at the bottom of one. His heart sank as he pulled it out. 

He recognized it as one of the oldest T-shirts he still owned, a baggy, mustard-yellow shirt with red rings around the sleeves and collar that he had been dressed in while he had been in the coma. He wasn’t sure why he had kept it after he woke up, as he thought it was quite ugly, but he had held onto it nonetheless. When Noodle had arrived, he was glad that he had since the girl came only with her guitar, her crate, and the clothes on her back. 2D had given her the shirt to wear as a nightgown, as it had reached well past her knees, until they were able to get her some proper clothes of her own. But even after they had, Noodle continued to wear his old shirt around the studio, and he had never really asked for it back. Every time she wore it 2D knew that she still appreciated him, still felt the bond that only the two of them had. That they would always there for each other, zen buddies no matter how old she got or how little she depended on him and the other boys as time went on. Only after El Manana had he gone into Noodle’s room had he seen it laying on the floor and taken it back before he walked out of Kong and out of Gorillaz for what he’d been sure was the final time. 

Suddenly, 2D felt sick as he looked at his things around the newly organized room. He laid back down on the bed, holding the old shirt tight against his skinny chest. He couldn’t get content. Noodle was still gone, and it was all because of Murdoc. He clutched the fabric to his face and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to picture her face, or recall her voice, remember the moments spent with her and Russell, wherever he might be. But the longer he lay there trying to conjure their faces, the more he realized that he no longer knew what either of them would look like now. His images of Russel and Noodle would have been from years ago. The pictures he held onto in his mind were no longer real, just as Plastic Beach wasn’t real, and it would never be anything more than another one of Murdoc’s horrible concoctions. It was a cheap rhinestone trying to cover up a hunking pile of rot. 

For the rest of the night, 2D drifted in and out of an uneasy sleep.  
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Holy shit that was hard to write. I just couldn’t pin down Murdoc and 2D’s interaction in this chapter, and in general I find Murdoc difficult- like, how much of an asshole should he be? I spent almost a month stuck on this stupid chapter, I only had a vague idea of what would happen going in, and so this came out, aha.  
> Side note, I still find it so interesting that 2D was studying to become a lawyer between phases 2 and 3.


	4. Stylo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2D makes a discovery about his room. Murdoc returns to an old hobby.

Chapter 4: Stylo  
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Overload, overload, overload…  
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The following weeks passed with little incident. As 2D had expected, Murdoc came down to his quarters daily to insist that he help with the album, to write lyrics or music, all of which 2D flatly refused. With each passing day, 2D grew steadily more impressed with himself; he’d been able to withstand all of Murdoc’s vitriol and cursing, and hadn’t caved to a single one of the other man’s demands. It wasn’t like him, and he felt himself emboldened, however trapped he was.

But what he found himself more impressed with, however unintentionally, was Murdoc. In all the years he had known him, 2D knew that Murdoc was not a particularly patient man, and his temper could fire off like a hair-trigger. He’d been the target of Murdoc’s anger and annoyance enough that he had come to expect a whallop to the back of the head or a sock to the eye if he said something out of turn or exceedingly stupid. But whenever Murdoc came to his room, he slammed the door, yelled, and threatened 2D, but had yet to lay a hand on him. As miserable as 2D was in his situation at Plastic Beach, he was thankful for this new development. 

Other than to bring him food and to pester him about the album, Murdoc left 2D alone, and he couldn’t say that he minded. He spent hours pouring over his old law books, or watching Dawn of the Dead on the tiny TV Murdoc had left in the room, and when he wasn’t doing either of those things, he laid on his bed getting higher than a kite, masturbating, or both. Murdoc had shipped with him at least a year’s worth of his pills, so 2D didn’t bother to count out how many he took every so often during the day. Instead, he dumped a small handful out into his palm and sat back waiting for everything to get fuzzy. He had also discovered that Murdoc had tossed in with his pills several cartons of his Lucky Lungs. As he was sure was unbeknownst to the bassist, he had stuffed into a few of the cigarette boxes a decent amount of weed already rolled into joints. He considered it a good afternoon when he could lay back on his lumpy mattress, pills working their way into his brain and a gentle curl of hazy smoke rising up from the end of a joint toward the high ceiling of his bedroom. In those quiet, Murdoc-less moments he could almost pretend that he was in his apartment in Lebanon, warm sunlight pouring in through the windows, or his old room at his parent’s house back in Crawley where he would watch the shadows from the setting sun shift lazily across his ceilings.

But Plastic Beach had no sun for 2D. Outside his single, small window was only the deep, fathomless ocean. Although he couldn’t see the surface, 2D knew that the season had shifted enough that even in the tropical ocean, a late autumn chill had taken hold, turning the water to an icy grave for anyone unlucky enough to be caught in it. The thought of seeing a body float past his window made him shudder and he’d quickly shoved those thoughts away. But the peace that 2D had so far enjoyed didn’t last.  
After nearly a month of the same droll, Murdoc burst into 2D’s room and grabbed him roughly by the elbow, pulling him into the cramped hallway without a word. 2D could only trip over his legs trying to keep up with the firm grip on his arm. 

“O-oy, what do yew think yer doin?!”

Murdoc whipped around sharply and quieted his singer with a venomous glare. 2D recoiled at the flash in his eyes. “We’re goin’ out. If you won’t help me work on the album, then I’ve got to use yer soddin’ arse for SOMETHING around here.” 

“But where are we goin’?”

Murdoc rolled his eyes upwards, his bloodshot schelera making his face look even more jaundiced than usual as he continued to drag 2D through the winding underbelly of the island.

“I’ve got somethin’ I need to do on the water, and you’re coming with me.”

2D began to open his mouth once more but shut it quickly when he saw the look on Murdoc’s face. Although usually in a foul mood, Murdoc’s anger tended to be almost comical; outrageous expressions, sudden and loud outbursts, and a blundering indignation at being, in his own opinion, the only member of the band besides Noodle with half a brain. But the look he wore this time was one of stony determination, marked by a tightly clenched jaw and hardened eyes. 2D had seldom seen this particular face, but knew that when Murdoc wore it it was best to stay out of his way.

The two of them came to an elevator, which clunked and rattled and made 2D’s stomach jump into his throat as they rode up in it to surface of the island. As the crisp ocean air hit his face, 2D felt as though he was breathing for the first time again. He’d almost forgotten what air was like without it being polluted by the haze of secondhand smoke. 

The sky overhead was a dull, stormy gray, the sun blotted out by a solid covering of threatening looking clouds that were a sure sign of the changing of the season. Feeling freer in the open air, 2D let the brisk wind send a shiver down his thin body as he took a look around the beach. Unlike the weather, little had changed in the landscape of the island since he had arrived. Even without the bright sunlight, the trash under his feet remained a disgustingly grimy shade of neon pink. 2D noticed that, amazingly, a few wilted looking palm trees stood along the edge of the water. Their roots split impossibly into the filthy plastic that if he didn’t know Murdoc, 2D wouldn’t have otherwise believed. 

At some point during his observations of the island, Murdoc had released 2D from the vice-like grip he had on his elbow and had stalked over toward and onto a modest fishing boat, a cabin cruiser with a dented hood and half missing guard rail. 2D watched hesitantly, inching his way over as the other man dug around in a small compartment at the edge of the deck. Murdoc, seeming to find what he had been searching for, straightened up and lobbed a long, skinny bag at his singer, which hit the singer around the middle. 2D wheezed, the wind knocked straight out of him. 

“Get in, ‘Dents, we ain’t got all day for you to stand there like some slack-jawed moron.” 

Trying to force his stomach back into its proper place, 2D shot Murdoc a nasty look, but climbed up and over the rusted rail with the bag, the boat swaying in the water beneath them. 

“What’ve yew got in the bag, Muds?” He held up the long duffel before tossing it aside on the deck. “An what’re we doin’ out here? It’s right nippy out, an yew didn’t bring my jackets or nuffink’ to this sodding hunk of junk.” 

2D knew that his complaining would only serve to irritate the already grumpy bassist, but that didn’t stop him. The whipping ocean wind and overcast skies sent a chill down his spine, and he’d instantly had goosebumps the moment they walked outside. And besides, they clearly weren’t going to be working on the album, so he wasn’t sure why Murdoc had dragged him from him room. 

Murdoc growled, but not before wrenching off his own jacket and throwing it at 2D. “WE aren’t doing anything, you twit.” He put his foot on a small, rusty tackle-box sitting near the edge of the cabin and kicked it over toward 2D. “YOU are gonna sit out here and try to catch some bloody fish while I keep a lookout.” 

2D raised his eyebrows. “What’ve yew got ta keep a look-out for? There ain’t nuffing around here.” He felt a panic raise once again in his chest. “Is there?” 2D’s head was flooded with images of monstrous sharks, towering and sweeping tidal waves, and, worst of all, gigantic whales lurking below the surface of the water, ready to devour him. 

Murdoc scoffed as he pulled open the cabin door and stepped inside. “Course there ain’t, Faceache.” He waved a dismissive hand out the open door before turning on the boat’s engine. “Just get fishing- your petulant refusal to do anything means that we might start runnin’ low on food before we get this album finished, and I ain’t eating your boney arse to survive.” With that, Murdoc let the cabin door slam shut, leaving 2D alone as the boat took off through the choppy ocean waters. 

2D stared down at the bag before unzipping it. Inside were a few shoddy looking fishing poles, line already wound through them. He picked one up and made his way over to the tackle-box where he pulled out a glinting lure and held its sharp hook between his long fingers. He hadn’t been fishing in ages, not since his dad had taken him as a boy. He remembered that he hadn’t been particularly good at it, but had been overjoyed every time he got a nibble, usually scaring away whatever fish had been interested. 

‘If only he could see me at it now,’ he thought sullenly as he tied the lure onto the end of the pole and let it sink into the water behind the boat. 

Watching it trail lazily through the waves, 2D considered Murdoc’s jacket still clenched in his hand. He didn’t really want to accept anything the bassist felt like giving him, but the persistent cold, made more intense by the added wind from their movement through the water, made him decide to slip it on. It was too short through the torso and arms, and smelled strongly to cigarettes and alcohol, but it kept out most of the chill. Settling cross legged onto the deck, 2D picked up the fishing rod and watched Plastic Beach drift off into the distance.  
\---  
By the end of the afternoon, 2D still wasn’t sure why exactly he and Murdoc had gone out on the ocean. Murdoc had stayed shut in the cabin the entire time, staring intently out at the open water with a small pair of binoculars, hissing at 2D every time he had tried to poke his head in to ask when they would be going back. But for the hours they spent cruising this way and that, 2D never saw anything that Murdoc could have been searching for, so he was relieved when he finally turned them around and headed back for the island. The weather had turned from overcast to misty, with a full-blown storm threatening them on the dimming horizon. When they touched the shore 2D was sure that he saw a few tiny snowflakes beginning to fall. 

He handed the few fish he’d managed to catch over to Murdoc as they made their way back to the elevator entrance, who grumbled at his measly haul. “What in the bloody hell were ya doin’ the whole time? Sweet satan, Faceache, if it weren’t for the fact that you can talk I’d think you were still in a damn coma.”

2D huffed. “Well sorry I ain’t done a good enough job! I didn’t see yew doin’ nuffin’ in there, yew old sod.” He yanked Murdoc’s jacket off and threw it at him. His entire body was stiff and painful from the cold, and his temper rose. “What did we even go out there for? We jus’ drove ‘round for hours in the bleedin’ cold! And for what? Yew didn’t do nuffin’ the whole fuckin’ time!’” 

Murdoc ground his teeth and yanked 2D by the other arm, shoving him through the open door before following after and smashing the button down to 2D’s room. “It ain’t none of your concern what the hell I was doin’, an’ if you know what’s good for ya you won’t keep testing my patience with your bloody smart mouth. The only good it does me is singin’, and you ain’t been doing any of that.”

The door opened and Murdoc dragged 2D by the wrist down the hallway, wrenching him into his quarters. The bassist’s eyes glinted at him dangerously as he stood in the doorway, looking him over disapprovingly. 2D was sure he looked a complete mess, tired, windswept, and frozen to the bone, but he scowled up at him defiantly.

“Now get to bed. If the weather holds we’ll be goin’ back out tomorrow.” 

2D began to open his mouth in protest before being cut off. 

“An’ if ya complain about it again I’ll give ya something for your useless arse to complain about!” 

And with that, Murdoc slammed shut the door of his room. 2D slumped across the room and collapsed on his bed, reaching blindly over to his bedside table to grab his pill bottle. Everything hurt. He was barely 31, but he could feel he joints scraping and grinding against each other near daily, and being out in the cold all day hadn’t done him any favors. 

He shook three little white tablets into his palm- one for his joints, one for the migraine he could feel starting to bloom around his temples, and one for the hell of it and gulped them down. Before he twisted the cap back on, he paused for a moment and shook out another one. If Murdoc was going to drag him back out in the morning, he wanted to make sure he could sleep through the night. But just as he was about to toss the last pill down, the door caught his eye from across the room.

It was open.

2D got up slowly. The door sat open, just a crack, but enough that it hadn’t slide in the jam. He stared at it. Murdoc must’ve slammed it so hard that it had bounced back.  
‘How could he not have noticed?’ It seemed unusually sloppy for the bassist, who never slacked in his duty of keeping 2D in line. But that was of little concern to 2D at the moment; he may have found a way to escape, a way to never have to see Murdoc’s slimy face again. 

Reaching out slowly, he placed his hand on the handle. He had never been completely sure, mostly because of the lack of visits Murdoc had paid him and his consistently high state of mind, but he thought that maybe, the door didn’t lock on its own, that Murdoc was using a separate lock to keep him in. Hesitantly, he pushed the handle and nudged it the rest of the way shut. He had either just doomed himself or figured out a clue to helping him get away from the island. Heart caught in his throat, he pushed down on the handle and pulled.  
It opened. 

2D quickly shut the door again and instantly started pacing, breathing hard.

Murdoc had left his door open for the night. Murdoc had left his door open for the whole night. This was his chance. It was as though the stars had aligned just for him. Had they not gone out on the boat earlier, he wouldn’t have known how to leave. He knew how to hotwire cars, and surely a boat wouldn’t be too different. If he could sneak out of the building, he could steal the boat and make a run for it. 2D wasn’t sure what he believed in anymore; he had long ago abandoned his parents’ Catholicism, and after Noodle’s death, he had found himself drifting away from Buddhism. But in that moment, he gave a quick thanks to whoever might be listening.

Hastily, 2D shoved a few shirts, pairs of underwear, and pants in a plastic bag, along with a carton of cigarettes and several bottles of his painkillers. He glanced at the old alarm clock that Murdoc had given him in the first few days of his capture. Bright red numbers shone 10:27 PM back at him. 

Sighing, he tied the bag shut and tucked it safely under the edge of the bed. He couldn’t leave now. He knew Murdoc would still be awake well into the night. And despite his age and the excessive damage he had caused to his decrepit body over the years, 2D knew that Murdoc’s hearing was sharp- he would be able to hear the boat pulling out of the dock if he were still awake. So 2D sat down on the edge of his bed, got comfortable, and kept his eyes fixed on the door. He could wait. He could be patient.  
\---  
Night seemed to take an eternity to fall. 2D laid on his bed, watching the minutes tick by on his clock. All he could do to keep from panicking was smoke cigarette after cigarette as the room around him faded slowly to black. He couldn’t take any more pills to help him calm his nerves; he had to keep his wits about him if he wanted to make it off the island. He rehearsed his plan over and over in his head. 

‘Find the stairs to avoid any noise from the elevator. Find something to unscrew the paneling. Hotwire the boat’s engine.’

When the clock flashed 3am, 2D decided that it was finally late enough to go. He couldn’t figure Murdoc was still awake, given his plans to go back out on the ocean again in the morning. Feeling for the bag he had prepared under the edge of the bed, 2D grabbed it and stumbled the distance to the door. He took a deep breath, nudged it open, and poked his head out into the hallway.

Red light flooded the cramped corridor. 2D had to squint his eyes to make out anything, his already poor vision made worse by the low light. To his right, he could faintly see the only other thing on that end of the hall, the elevator that Murdoc had taken him up in earlier that day. To his left, the hall stretched on and disappeared into blackness. 2D bit his lip. As tempted as he was to dash into the elevator, he knew that it would be loud. He also knew that Murdoc was a damn light sleeper, and had given him a wallop numerous times at Kong for walking too loudly outside his bedroom in the mornings. 

2D slipped out, pushed the door back into the frame, and started down the left side of the corridor. Feeling along the edges of the walls, he was sure that it was the slowest he had ever moved in his life, and he tried to make his footfalls light as a feather and keep his breathing even. The stairs, if there were any, would probably be within its own alcove, so he dusted his fingers along the cool metal panes of the wall, waiting for his fingers to hit any kind of doorframe or opening. When they finally bumped into a door, he stopped to inspect it.

What he saw wasn’t what he was expecting to find. 

The door was open just enough that 2D was able to see inside if he bent his neck at just the right angle. As his eyes adjusted to the thin line of dim light coming from the crack, he began to see a gaping hole in the middle of the floor illuminated by flames bouncing gently from within it. Although the hole was quite large, large enough in fact that it appeared to melt entirely through the floor, he could feel that it gave off no heat, and the flames had no fuel. 2D recognized this almost immediately as one of Murdoc’s portals to Hell, similar to the giant one he always kept open in the basement of Kong. Sitting near the edge of the hole was Murdoc himself. He was crouched low and the light from the fire licked over his gaunt face. 2D was struck by this image. 

‘When did he get so thin?’

2D saw Murdoc’s lips moving rapidly, though he couldn’t make out what he said. His voice was low and gentle, so unlike how it was in every other facet of Murdoc’s life. 2D had only ever witnessed Murdoc speaking so quietly once, shortly after Noodle had arrived. 

Before she had learned any English, Noodle occasionally threw terrible crying fits, mostly when she was tired and frustrated after struggling through long days of practice with no way to talk to her bandmates. It had always been Russel or himself who had to pick her up and carry her to her room and coax her into sleep, as Murdoc had made it quite clear that although he was willing to let a nine year old join his band, he wasn’t about to do any parenting. But 2D could remember one exception, an evening when Russel was away visiting Brooklyn and he’d had a head-splitting migraine. He had woken up from his painkiller induced haze to Noodle crying loudly outside his door. Just as he had been about open his door, however, he heard Murdoc faintly from the other side.

‘Come now love, you don’t want to be raising a stink. Dent-face is down and out for the count and if ya wake him up it’ll just give him one more thing to complain about, as if he doesn’t do it enough already.’ Noodle’s crying slowly came to a halt, and he heard Murdoc give a pained grunt as he must have lifted her. ‘Now let’s go down and try to practice- maybe old Mudsy’ll show ya a strum or two on El Diablo. I get the feeling you’ve got some bass player spirit in you.’ 2D never before experienced Murdoc try to be soothing, and he wouldn’t see it again until he watched him muttering to the pit. It was a strange thing. 

But he couldn’t be distracted. With one final look to make sure Murdoc’s gaze lay firmly on the portal, 2D darted past the door and continued on. 

When 2D finally found the stairs he felt like he might burst into tears. Climbing up them four steps at a time thanks to his impossibly long legs, 2D made it to the ground floor and wrenched the door open. The outside air was cold, much colder than it had been during the day. 2D shivered instantly and took a moment to put on the t-shirts he had brought with him, though they did little to help warm him, and began scouring the beach for the boat. He had remembered that Murdoc had pulled it in on the side of the island with the elevator doors, so he sprinted in that direction. But in the few, short seconds it took him to dash over, 2D’s heart dropped; the boat wasn’t tied to the dock. He circled around the island, pulse quickening rapidly.

It was completely gone. 

2D felt himself beginning to hyperventilate. ‘Where did it go? I know it was here!’ He hadn’t seen Murdoc move the boat before coming back into the island with him. Had he moved it while 2D was waiting? But where would he have even put it? He’d circled the entire island, and it was nowhere to be found. Suddenly, a thought struck him and 2D’s blood froze in his veins. 

‘Did Murdoc realize I was going to escape?’

It didn’t seem possible, but 2D didn’t want to consider the possibility of Murdoc finding him outside. If he made it back to his room without the bassist noticing, he could always try his escape again.

Deciding that trying to make it back unnoticed was his best option, 2D ran frantically back to the stair entrance. He just had to sneak back down the steps and past the room Murdoc had been in, if he was still there, and back into his bedroom and he would be safe and scott-free. He could do it, he could make it. But just as he went to wrench open the door, it flew open forcefully, knocking 2D onto the hard plastic ground. He looked up and in an instant the air was gone from his lungs, eyes surely deceiving him. 

It couldn’t be.

He couldn’t be seeing this.

Noodle stood in the doorway, staring down at him. 

A thousand different thoughts and emotions seemed to hit 2D all at once- disbelief at her standing before him, joy at her being alive, panic that Murdoc would find them both and lock them away, and a fear that she wasn’t real, that the combination of his poor eyesight, painkillers, and stress was playing a trick on him. Even as he pulled air back into his lungs, his head was swimming.

“N-Noodle…” he gasped, speaking just above a whisper. “Is…is that yew, luv?”

She didn’t move an inch as she continued to gaze down upon him coolly, a detail that 2D didn’t fail to notice, even in his discombobulated state. He squinted at her through the dark. She looked just as he remembered her from three years ago, the same height, her hair done the same way, and tiny in every way, a trait that betrayed her incredible physical strength. But something was off, and 2D went from ecstatically relieved to nauseous with dread. She hadn’t appeared to have aged a day over 13, despite 2D knowing that she would have just passed her 17th birthday. But more unnerving that that, he had never seen Noodle look at him with such indifference, not with the hard eyes that this Noodle possessed. 

2D struggled to stand, trying to recover from his shock. He approached her cautiously. “Hey, Noods, s-say sumfink’, yeah? Tell me it’s yew, Noodle.” 

He slowly reached out to her eerily still body to place a hand on her shoulder, to feel her skin and know that it was really her, but as he did so, she darted forward and pulled his arm behind him. In another instant her hand was clenched tight around his windpipe, crushing it under her strong grip. 

Over the sounds of his own sputtering, 2D heard a voice, but not the one for which he had hoped.

“Once again you’re only about half right, ya half-wit.”

2D saw Murdoc step into the moonlight and ruffle Noodle’s hair as black spots started to swarm his sight. The bassist smirked down at him evilly, sharp teeth glinting even in the dark. 

“Mu-“

“Go on and drop him, won’t you dearie?”

And the hand around his throat squashed out 2D’s remaining consciousness.  
*************************************************************************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So like, this chapter got away from me. I did not expect it to drag on near as long as it did. I hope it turned out alright because honestly I got lost at points writing it, aha. It doesn't help that I get wordy as hell sometimes- bad habit.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Honestly, this is my least favorite song on the album, and this chapter is all introduction anyway, so it got the least love. Sorry Snoop.


End file.
